


No Game

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Fracture and Repair [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Complicated Relationships, Desperation, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Power Dynamics, Prostate Massage, Sadism, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trust Kink, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: There are things Severus would have done to Potter, he thinks, at the beginning of this debacle.Potter seems to trust him anyway.





	No Game

**Author's Note:**

> Had a request for smut!

There is a part of Severus Snape, a snarling, monstrous part of him he is far from proud of, that wishes he had allowed Potter in directly after the war, when he was still a boy, scarcely even nineteen when he had first arrived on Severus’ doorstep, begging his company, asking him questions. There is a part of him, some deep and animal instinct buried deep within his gut, that wishes he had taken the boy by the hair and dragged him inside, bent him over the creaky table in his hall and fucked him ‘til he could scarcely breathe, drowned him in the new experience and wrenched the orgasms from his body, watched him choke on it, wrought his body like a taut string.

He hadn’t.

Hanging onto his newfound morality by the scarcest thread, he had snapped at him to leave him be, and not seven months later, when after his repeated visits to Severus’ home, he had suggested, clumsily and without enunciation at some drunken Christmas party Severus was _forced_ to attend by his parole officer, that they go home together, Severus had responded with no grace himself, speaking quickly.

“You are far from old enough to be making that sort of mistake, Potter,” Severus had said, grasping him by the chin and shoving him from Severus’ lap.

“How old is old enough?” he had asked, eagerly.

“Twenty-three,” Severus had said without thought, lacking the script for such a situation, and not realising the boy would take it so seriously, not realising he would even remember.

That had been years ago, years ago: Potter is only scant years away from thirty now, and when he straddles Severus’ thighs, rolling his arse down against Severus’ cock, it is with… _practice_. Potter has been fucked before, and he has fucked himself: he is a man with experience under his belt, has slept with men, has slept with women, knows exactly what he likes—

And that is for the best, Severus knows. It is good, that he had gotten his own experience, away from Severus and his impatience and his possession, his desire to rip the boy limb from limb and remake him in a more seductive image (if such things were to be possible), but here he stands on the brink of _goodness_ , and he wishes he had had it in him to be _dark_.

He slides his hands up Potter’s belly, sliding over his stomach and then up to his pectorals, his thumbs resting in the exaggerated hollow of his collarbone, his fingers playing over his shoulders. Such a beautiful body does Potter have, muscular and hard beneath Severus’ palms, radiating a glorious heat—

“What are you thinking about?” Potter asks, ever the sentimentalist, and Severus feels his lip curl slightly as he squeezes the column of the younger man’s throat. There are scars on his body, from his work as an Auror – would he have had them, at nineteen? Would his body have been smoother than this, without the hair dusting his chest, or leading a handsome trail down toward the jut of his cock? Would he have been thinner, lighter, easier for Severus to pin beneath his own weight, and to _ruin_?

“I am considering,” Severus murmurs, and he feels the twist of pleasure in his gut as Potter’s buttocks, curved and stacked with the muscle of Quidditch and Auror duty alike, slide back against his cock, catching at the wet head of Severus’ prick, “what I might have done to you, had I accepted your invitations when you were first making them.”

“Why didn’t you?” Potter asks, and Severus squeezes his neck, making Potter shudder.

“Stupid boy,” Severus murmurs.

“I’m nearly thirty, Severus,” Potter says, “I’m not a boy anymore.”

“Stupid,” Severus repeats smoothly, and Potter’s lips quirk into a charming little smile.

“Tell me,” Potter says again, and he grinds himself back against Severus’ cock once more, teasing – so _teasing_. He is confident in himself, and he trusts Severus, trusts that he is safe, and comfortable, and that Severus won’t hurt him… What a delight it might have been, to have had him when he _was not_ sure, when there remained an uncertainty of Severus, when Severus’ power over him was inescapable—

“If I tell you, Potter, you will leave my bed, and never speak to me again.”

“God, you voted for Margaret Thatcher?” Caught off-guard, Severus laughs, tipping his head back against the pillow, and Potter looks down at him with an astonished smile pulling at his handsome lips, an eagerness shining in his arms as he presses his fingers against Severus’ chest, grinding himself down. “You look great when you laugh,” Potter murmurs softly, and the statement makes Severus stiff and uncomfortable, needling under his skin. “Tell me.”

Severus shifts one of his thighs rapidly to the left, and Potter lets out a shocked noise as he loses his balance, tumbling onto his back as Severus slides to pin him down, his wrists beneath the long, skinny fingers of Severus’ hand, and Severus’ cock resting hard between Potter’s legs, against the slightly open pucker of his hole.

He’d watched Potter finger himself open, grind himself down onto his hand, and he had wondered what it might have been like to open him up for the first time, to leave him whimpering and squirming as he threatened to fuck him before he was ready, fuck him open—

Would he have looked good, with tears in his eyes?

“Tell me,” Potter demands, eager as he tips his hips up, but obediently, he keeps his wrists beneath Severus’ hand, as if he likes it, as if he wants Severus to pin him down.

“I am thinking,” Severus murmurs, “about what I might have done to you. You are lucky I didn’t.”

“Am I?” Potter asks, and Severus hates the smile on his face, warm and full of confidence, unerringly trusting, and oh-so- _handsome_ — “Why? What would you have done?”

“This is no game, Potter.”

“Do I sound like I’m playing?”

“You do.”

“I’m not.” Potter surges up, and yet even as he arches his back, doing his best to reach for Severus’ mouth, he does not disentangle his hands, does not err from Severus’ control, and it sends a thrill down his spine, that Potter should submit so entirely, that he might show this token rebellion even as he leaves himself firmly beneath the scope of Severus’ control. Severus can feel the heat of his wrists beneath Severus’ palms and grasping fingers, can feel the speed of his pulse beneath his touch. “I’m serious, Seveus: tell me.”

“What would you do if I choked you, Potter?” Severus asks in a tone of great delicacy.

“Choke, I suppose,” Potter replies, and Severus stares down at him, digging his fingernails into the flesh of Potter’s wrists: instead of crying out, or doing his best to wrench himself free, he _moans_.

“You wouldn’t be frightened? You wouldn’t struggle?” Severus asks, fascinated despite the desperate irritation that burns at the core of his instinct, and Potter laughs softly.

“Would you want me to?” he asks, playfully, and Severus grips even tighter, watching the crescent marks he digs into Potter’s flesh.

“This is not a game,” he repeats in a dark growl. “Potter, I am thinking of when you first offered yourself to me, and what I might have done to you – how I might have brought you to my home and taken you to pieces, how I might have ruined you.” He sees the heady flush on Potter’s cheeks, and he grinds his cock against the cleft of Potter’s arse, feels Potter shiver and spread his thighs a little wider, inviting Severus in. “You don’t seem to be grasping the gravity of what I’m saying to you.”

“No?” Potter asks, and he breathes in a reedy inhalation, finishing up with a soft noise that is close to a whimper. “Then pray, Severus, _elucidate_.” It is an almost passable imitation of Severus’ voice, and Severus’ left hand moves even as his right hand retains its grip of Potter’s wrists, whipping forth and rendering a ringing slap against the side of Potter’s cheek. Potter’s head wrenches to the side with a satisfying crack, and Severus can see the slight glow of red on the skin as Potter breathes heavily, then rips one hand free. He does not, as Severus had expected, shove Severus away from him: he grabs Severus’ hair in a fistful and drags him into a bruising kiss, catching Severus’ lip beneath desperate lips and teeth. Severus kisses him back, relishes the burn of pain against his scalp, and he stares down at Potter as Potter pulls away with a smacking sound, breathing heavily.

“I don’t think you understand,” Severus says.

“I couldn’t care in the slightest,” Potter replies. “Would you just—” Severus lines himself up, and Potter _moans_ as Severus slides inside, feels the wet heat of Potter’s arse give way, and he stops with his cock buried in to the hilt, and does not move. Leaning in closer, he comes in until they are nose to nose, until Potter’s eyes are forced to gaze directly into Severus’ own, and he feels Potter wriggle just slightly in his place. Subtly, Severus rolls his hips, and he feels Potter gasp as he drags his cockhead over _just_ the right place…

And then does it again.

Potter’s hands move, but Severus grabs his wrists once more and pins them either side of his shoulders. Severus is slow, careful, and deliberate in the movement of his hips, in the way he drags over Potter’s prostate repeatedly, and he delights in the way Potter’s cock jumps and jerks between their bellies, and the _cries_ Potter lets out, bitten back and desperate… Potter’s cheeks are flushed a sweet red now, his breaths catching in his throat, and when his eyes start watering, Severus has to take a moment to collect himself, to prevent himself from losing patience and fucking Potter as hard as he knows how.

“Severus,” Potter whines. “Don— Can you just— That’s too much, it’s too much—”

“Is it?” Severus asks, his tone faux-innocent and only slightly breathless, and he twists his hips: Potter convulses.

“ _Severus_ —"

“I would have hurt you, Potter,” Severus bites out, and again he does it, again, just to see the way Potter _wails_ and tries to shift away—

( _And yet_ , points out that possessive, growling voice, _he’s stronger than you are. He could lift you on one shoulder. So why does he not throw you off?_ )

“Do you understand? _I would have hurt you_.” Potter is sweating now, beads of moisture showing on his forehead and his flushed-red cheeks, and when Severus begins to move his hips in slow circles once more, not drawing out enough to offer relief, Potter actually lets out a _sob_. He heaves in a lung-wrenching breath, spreading his thighs as far as they can go and whining low in his throat, and when Severus finally draws himself back, leaving just the tip of his cock still pressed inside Potter, Potter _slumps_ back. Looking up at Severus with bleary, wet eyes, he smiles like a mad man.

“I know you think I’m an idiot,” Potter whispers, his voice slightly hoarse. “But you must be a shoddy sort of sadist to not recognize a masochist when you’ve got one underneath you.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if you had refused me.”

“I wouldn’t have refused you.”

“Potter, I—”

“Severus, with the greatest of my respect and my affection,” Potter says, making Severus frown, partly at his phrasing, and partly at the interruption, “Putting me off for nearly a decade, waiting for me to get experience under my belt, and now giving me all this waffle, as if you’re trying to make sure I have enough time to change my mind and get out of your bed.” Severus feels as if he has been doused in hot water, the embarrassment abruptly creeping over his skin. Potter says, hurriedly, “I’m not— You know, I’m not accusing you of self-sabotage.”

( _But isn’t that exactly what it is?)_

“I’m just saying I want you to fuck me until I cry.” Severus’ mouth is dry, and he stares down at Potter’s beatific smile, at his watery eyes, his sweat-soaked skin, his flushed cheeks.

“I needn’t fuck you to do that,” Severus says, and Potter shivers with undisguised zeal. It makes a part of Severus—

 _Thrill_.

Not merely delight in the possession, in the power, but it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest, makes him feel a fluttery heat within him and a strange desire to kiss Potter on the soft swell of his bruised lips.

Severus lets himself go, and he delights in the way Potter wraps his body around Severus’, grinds himself down against him: their chests together, their arms wrapped around one another with scarcely a breath able to pass between the tightness of their bodies in synchrony, and he doesn’t tease, now, doesn’t work Potter over with overstimulation in quite the same way.

When Potter comes, his cock sputtering and painting thick white between their bellies, Severus keeps at the same rhythm, and it only spurs him on when Potter gasps and jerks and _keens_ , gloriously tight and oversensitive beneath Severus’ ministrations.

Severus comes deep within him, seats himself and delights in the way Potter just _takes_ it…

When Severus withdraws, he shoves Potter’s thighs apart, and he looks at the open pucker of Potter’s hole, slightly red with the strength of Severus’ movements, and with a pearl of white dripping down between the cleft of his cheeks… “Perfect,” Severus whispers, and Potter laughs dreamily, breathlessly. “What?” Severus asks.

“Nothing,” Potter mutters, exhaustedly raising his head forward so he can look down at Severus over the planes of his well-muscled body, messy with come and sweat. “Just— What I wouldn’t _give_ to have you look at one of my potions like that.”

“You are unhinged, Potter,” Severus declares.

“Yeah,” he agrees mildly, the image of self-satisfaction. “So the papers keep telling me.”

ϟ ϟ ϟ

“Were you hoping I would?” Potter asks, two days later, as he sits on the floor of Severus’ living room, seemingly unaware of the choice of furniture upon which he might sit instead. “Leave, I mean.”

“No,” Severus says.

“You were— What, you were fantasising, when I was younger—”

“I did not _fantasize_ about you at nineteen years old, Potter: I was disgusted at your very presence.”

“Liar,” Potter purrs, with undisguised delight. “Any man in Britain would have taken a shot at my arse, if I’d given them the chance.”

“By the feel of it, you offered it to enough.”

“Ooh, harsh talk!” Potter crows, but there is no disgust in his voice, no upset. He looks down at his plate, taking a forkful of his pasta and eating it with gusto… Severus watches him, and on a whim he reaches out, closing the gap between them and dragging his fingers through the muss of Potter’s hair, feeling how soft it is, surprisingly so… “Don’t be ashamed,” Potter says, and he turns his head to look at Severus, his cheek sliding against the bony press of Severus’ hand: Severus feels strangely vulnerable, as if his innards are on display. “Of wanting to hurt me. I want you to hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t have been gentle with you,” Severus murmurs. “I wouldn’t have cared, if you had said no.”

“Severus… You _did_ care if I would say no,” Potter replies. Severus tightens his grip on Potter’s hair, and Potter’s eyes flutter shut, his bowl resting forgotten in his lap as he leans directly into Severus’ hand, eagerly, as if this is _all_ he dreams of—

“Potter,” Severus whispers, “I might have really _hurt_ you. Do you understand? I would have delighted in your fear of me, in your begging for respite I would not offer, in your realisation that you ought never have trusted me.” He grips tighter, and Potter grunts out a noise, then looks at Severus, his eyes lidded, his pupils dilated… His lips are parted. This talk _arouses_ him.

“I understand,” Potter mumbles, a little clumsily. “But, Severus… I tried to cast _Crucio_ on you. You’re not— You know, I’m, um, I’m not that into inflicting pain, I prefer receiving, but… I’m not _frightened_ that you want to. You know?”

“Ineloquent,” Severus says. “But— adequately communicative.”

“I’m happy to take whatever you give me,” Potter says.

“Idiot,” Severus replies, and Potter exhales, smiling as Severus relaxes the hold he has on his hair. He feels… Discomfited. There is an uncertainty to this discussion, to the ease with which Potter offers his trust and his body, how laden with desire is his declaration of his masochism, and yet—

Severus pulls him closer, so that he can drag their mouths together, and Potter hums into his mouth, kisses him soundly, eagerly… “What would you say, then?” Severus asks, whispering against Potter’s mouth, “were I to bind you with magic and finger you until I milked you dry?” Potter swallows audibly, and stares at Severus, his face the answer his mouth cannot expel: there is such desperate want in his eyes. “You are _mad_ ,” Severus says.

“You’re driving me there,” Potter replies, and Severus shoves him away, feels the flicker of warmth within him as Potter returns to his pasta, eats with aplomb…

“This is no game, Potter,” Severus says again, as he had the other night.

“It is,” Potter argues. “I’m just letting you win.”

Severus’ lips twitch, and he tips head back against the chair, allowing himself to relax, just slightly, for the afternoon. With subtlety, and then with confidence, Potter leans back against Severus’ legs, and Severus allows it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html), which I'm making my focus rather than Tumblr in the wake of all this anti-adult content nonsense. Requests always open.


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